


Thief à la Mode

by madam_lit_nerd



Category: Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Detective Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff, M/M, Movie: Ocean's Twelve, Tension, Thief Dean Winchester, Winchester's Eleven, and more focus on the romance part, but with dean and cas, castiel in lipstick, essentially it's brad pitt and catherine zeta jones's story, hell hath no fury, no sex tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madam_lit_nerd/pseuds/madam_lit_nerd
Summary: Dean and his crew are on the ropes, desperate for a job with a big payout. There's just one problem: the detective hot on their trail...who just so happens to be Dean's ex with a major grudge to bear.Cas let Dean get away once before, professionally and romantically. Now, as a well-respected detective for Europol who's put his past firmly behind him, there's no room for any more of those peskyromanticfeelings. He has to catch Dean this time and lock him away for good, no matter the cost.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So the Ocean's movies have always been some of my favorite, and a few years ago I wrote a piece for Dean and Cas based on the storyline between Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta Jones (and when I say based on, I mean VERY closely based on, but I did try to change up the conversations and provide more emotional responses and insights for what's driving both Cas and Dean). 
> 
> I originally posted it as a series of short pieces on Tumblr (hence the very short chapters), but I recently rewatched the movie, and dug back through my writing tag to find the story. So...here it is!

Dean slipped into the darkened apartment, trying not to make too much noise as he crept through the dining room. He shuddered as the rainwater that had caught in his hair dripped down his neck into his collar, soaking the fabric and winced as the floorboard creaked below his boots.

Casting a nervous glance toward the sleeping form on the bed, he crept into the bedroom. 

It only took a couple of steps before he heard the gentle call. “Dean?” The whisper barely broke the steady thrum of the rain, but it was enough to stop Dean in his tracks.

He slipped over to the bed and smiled gently at the groggy face on the pillow, settling himself on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, bending down to press a quick kiss against those plush pink lips. His hands slid up to toy with the strap of the pretty red teddy.

“Hey. How was your trip?” Castiel whispered, his bright blue eyes blinking up at Dean.

“Eh,“ Dean shrugged, but kept his lips against Cas’s. "I swear, I could’ve sold that thing in a day back in the States. ‘62 Thunderbird, thing of beauty! And I get all the way out there, and they just want to see fuckin’ pictures.”

Cas giggled softly. “I bet you could show me some real nice pictures.” 

Dean grinned wickedly.

“Or I could just show you the real thing,“ Dean offered. Cas grinned and nodded. Dean stood and tore off his shirt, exposing acres of perfectly tanned skin.

He plopped down in the chair in the corner, just long enough to untie and pull off his boots.

"We got a big break in the Bulgary case,” Cas called, his tone smug and self-satisfied.  


Dean froze with one boot in hand. “Really?”

“Really,” Cas murmured. “We found a boot print at the scene…a really good one! The left heel was worn way down.”

Dean glanced down at the boot in his hand, the heel of which was worn way down.

“That’s great,“ he praised, despite the dread that pooled in his gut. Cas wasn’t the fastest-rising officer in his unit for no reason…he’d figure it out eventually.

“Yeah. We found a hair, too,” Cas continued as Dean stepped into the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the tub, his head dropping into his hands.

“It’s in the lab now, so by noon tomorrow we should know everything about him. What kind of shampoo he uses,“ Dean’s eyes landed on the Head and Shoulders behind him. 

"Whether he has dandruff, if he streaks his hair…” His eyes landed on the color creme in the cabinet. _Fuck. ___

____

____

Dean switched on the water.

“You coming to bed?“

"In a second,” Dean called back. “Just gonna grab a shower.”

He shut the door, pulling in a deep breath as he heaved himself up into the windowsill. 

Hesitating for a moment, he allowed the regret to well up in him as he contemplated what he was about to do, what he was about to give up. Then, with another deep breath, Dean jumped out the window into the pouring rain, wincing as his socked feet landed right in a cold puddle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets called to a crime scene, only to be confronted by old memories and feelings.

“And that’s what makes these men so effective,” Cas explained to the assembled officers and detectives, confidence evident in his tone. “Their ability to blend in. They’ll have wives, children. They’ll spend their evenings at home, surrounded by their loving families. But, don’t be fooled; underneath that family-friendly exterior, they are cold-blooded criminals.”

He shook his head, hesitating before his the next words. “LeMarc, one of the greatest criminals the world has ever known, had a wife and son, but he still managed to remain active under police radar for years.”

A door at the back of the lecture hall slammed open, and Inaias—the new intern—came running in, harried and frantic. Since that was his usual state, Cas chose to ignore him. 

“But his protege, who’s managed to surpass him in the few years he’s been active, is our real target.”

Cas could feel Inaias shuffling around behind him, could sense his urgency. Whatever it was, it could wait. “This criminal, known only as The Leviathan, is our number one priority, and we cannot allow ourselves to become distracted by…”

Inaias, refusing to be ignored any longer, stepped up and whispered directly into his ear. Cas froze.

“What?!” His shocked cry resounded throughout the lecture hall.

***

Cas climbed from the car, fidgeting with his silver cuff link as he straightened up. A tall man in a dark suit and fedora stepped forward.

“Detective Novak?” The man asked. Cas nodded once. “I’m Officer Bianchi. I’m so glad to have you in on this.”

Cas sighed heavily as he strode toward the house. “Hopefully the crime scene hasn’t been contaminated yet.”

They led Cas through the house to the keypad, still lit, still in secure mode. “What happened?” Cas asked.

“We’re not quite sure…” The officer admitted.

Castiel shuffled forward to examine the wall more closely, his eyes squinting, head tilting to the side. Grabbing a pencil from his breast pocket, he began to poke at the wall, carving out a piece of plaster that had obviously been applied very recently. As the plaster broke loose from its mold, a subtle flash scent rose up with it. Cas froze, allowing the scent to invade his senses. His eyes slid shut as the memories began to wash over him.

The first time he’d smelled that cologne, he’d been sitting alone at a tiny picturesque cafe in Verona. He’d seen him before he’d smelled him, of course, sitting across the street with two other men. From the moment Cas had laid eyes on the tall man with the sandy hair and perfect face, he’d been lost.

He’d always been told that his propensity for staring wasn’t normal, but in that moment, staring at that gorgeous man, he couldn’t bring himself to care. And then the man had looked up, his bright green eyes latching onto Cas’s, a flirtatious smirk pulling at his mouth.

And Cas, god help him, he hadn’t been able to do anything but stare helplessly as the man stood from his table, leaving his companions behind without a second glance, and strode confidently toward Castiel, that smirk in place the entire time.

“Hey,” he’d greeted.

Cas blushed softly. “Hello.”

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” the man flirted, and Cas smiled.

“No, but, uh…I think I saw you yesterday,” he admitted.

“Really?” Dean cried in surprise.

“Yeah. I think the police were chasing you.”

The man’s eyes had gone distant, like he was remembering that particular chase, and Cas could see the exact instant that he remembered the moment that Cas spoke of. He’d grinned and winked at Cas as he’d rushed past.

But instead of admitting it, he said, “I don’t think that was me.”

Cas blushed and looked down at his coffee. “I must be mistaken then.”

“It’s okay,” the tall man assured him with a wink. “It’s an easy enough mistake to make.”

He gestured toward the empty chair at Cas’s table. “May I?”

“Please!” Cas rushed to reply.

That date had led to another, and that one to another, and then another...until Cas found himself falling for the enigmatic man with the beautiful smile.

Despite the newness of their relationship, there had been something about Dean, something that Cas had easily opened up to. Soon, there wasn’t a part of him that Dean didn’t know. Cas found himself sharing things, things that he’d never thought he would share, things about himself, his past, his father. And Dean…Dean had understood.

And the more time they spent together, the more Cas marveled at this unassuming mechanic who’d weaseled his way into Cas’s heart so completely. There’d been the slow dancing in the crowded nightclub, their foreheads pressed tight together as they swayed to a music all their own. There’d been the late nights and the early mornings, the sunny afternoon walks and the rainy evening fucks.

So when Cas had realized the truth about Dean, his unassuming mechanic from the States, it had hurt…it had hurt so much. But not nearly as much when Dean had left without a word. He’d hopped out of a bathroom window, leaving nothing but a worn-down pair of boots and a few toiletries behind. And now Cas was left with nothing but the memories, beautiful smoky memories that danced around Cas’s periphery, taunting him.

But it was one of the smaller memories that rose to the surface now, a tiny little memory that should’ve been lost, for all intents and purposes. But now it pushed its way to the forefront, demanding acknowledgement.

Cas had sat on top of the dining room table, his sweat pant-clad legs crossed beneath him as he’d laughed around mouthfuls of gelato and told Dean about the thief who’d defied the laws of nature for a heist.

“The whole house?” Dean had cried, astonished.

“The whole house.” Cas had laughed at Dean’s awestruck expression.

“He lifted the _whole _fucking house! Please tell me you’re not fucking with me here.”__

Cas had grinned. “I’m not. It’s called a—”

“A Schumann Special,” Cas murmured to himself, still lost to his memories.

“What?” Detective Bianchi asked, breaking into Cas’s thoughts. Cas glanced at him, annoyance evident in his expression. “Have you ever heard of Max Schumann?”

The detective paused as he tried to supply a face to match the name. “No, I haven’t,” he finally admitted.

“Well, they have,” Cas assured him.

“Who?”

“The Americans,” Cas murmured, almost to himself. Even as he said it, he knew it was true. And these weren’t just any Americans; one of them was _Cas’s_ American. He’d felt it the day before when he’d been at the funeral, that familiar tingle he experienced whenever a certain green-eyed mechanic—thief, he corrected himself—was around.

The pictures that Balth had tossed down onto his desk just that morning, the pictures burning a hole in his laptop case, proved it.

Dean was back, and this time… This time, Cas was gonna catch him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a visitor.

“Well, that job was a bust!” Kevin groused as he threw his duffel down onto the bed.

“No shit,” Ash muttered.

“Look, guys, I know this wasn’t the…” Caleb tried, but Jo cut him off.

“No, Caleb! We’re fucked! We’re absolutely fucked! This Leviathan, whoever the hell he is, broke the Number One Rule! And then he went and broke the Number Two Rule, just for the hell of it! Because of his fucking ego.” She ran a hand through her long blonde hair, her face set into a sneer. “Men!”

She stormed into the bathroom, leaving Ash to trail after her with a plaintive “Baby!”

Dean and Sam exchanged glances, and Dean shook his head, a smirk on his face. “She’s still pissed cause it got called Winchester Eleven.”

“Ash’ll calm her down.”

There was a knock on the door, and Dean pulled out his wallet. “That’s the food.”

Already pulling out the money, he strode to the door and swung it open. “How much do I ow—”

As he looked up, the words died in his throat. 

Bright blue eyes blinked back at him, plush pink lips spread into a knowing smile, and that deep, resonant voice he still felt in his dreams said, “Hello, Dean.”

The blue eyes shifted to glance over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean finally snapped out of his haze. He slammed the door shut, cutting off Cas’s view, and spun around to find Sam and Benny in clear line-of-sight. Shit, there was no way Cas couldn’t have made them.

He jerked his hand toward the bedroom, hissing at them to hide, and everyone rushed to the other room. When they were locked away, he opened the door again, a flirtatious smile on his face.

“Cas,” he murmured.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Cas, smiling sweetly, ran his fingers over a folder in his hands.

After glancing back over his shoulder to double check that the door to the other room was completely closed, Dean jerked his head backward.

“Come on in, Sweetheart,” he drawled, and Cas slipped into the room, making sure to brush up against him as he passed. Dean had to resist the urge to groan.

“You know, when I heard you were back in town, I was so sad that I hadn’t heard from you,” Cas admitted, only lying the tiniest bit.

“Well, I’ve been pretty busy since I got into town, so…” Dean hedged.

Cas chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s not what I heard, or rather, saw…” He held up the folder in his hand, smirking, then pulled out a stack of pictures and tossed them onto the coffee table. Dean settled down onto the couch and picked up the photos. They were all of him from the day before as he’d trailed Cas around the city.

He chuckled. The whole time he’d been watching Cas, Cas had been watching him. “Cop through and through,” he muttered.

“Detective, actually,” Cas corrected, his tone smug as he leaned back against the desk, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his arms folded over his chest.

Dean flashed him a smile. “I heard. Congratulations.” He looked back down at the photos in his hand.

“Ah, that’s one of my personal favorites,” Cas murmured. It was a picture of Dean licking at some gelato. “I call it Thief a la Mode.”

Silence fell between them as Dean continued to glance through the photos, even though he could really care less about looking at pictures of himself. He was more interested in Cas and keeping him here for as long as possible, which was a dangerous game in itself. The longer Cas stayed here in this room, the more likely he was to figure out what Dean was really up to. But Dean couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“I got called in to consult on a case this morning,” Cas suddenly announced.

Dean glanced up at him through his lashes. He knew what the case was without even asking.

“Someone robbed a gentleman’s home. And would you believe, they lifted the house.” Cas shot a dark look at Dean as he enunciated each word. “The whole _fucking_ house.”

A playful smirk tugged at Dean’s mouth. “That sounds familiar.”  


Cas studied him for a moment longer before asking, “Did he leave you a figurine?”

“Who?” Dean questioned, feigning ignorance.

Cas pushed away from the desk, his eyes dark and assessing on Dean as he whispered, “The Leviathan.”

Dean couldn’t help his frown at the worshipful tone in Cas’s voice. It was the same tone Cas used to use when he talked about Dean…well, he hadn’t known it was Dean, of course. He’d just known him as a faceless thief working the Bulgary job.

“I don’t know who that is,” Dean lied.

Cas shook his head, squinting his eyes and tilting his head. “Dean, I don’t know what you’ve done to anger him, but whatever it is, you need to figure it out and apologize.” He stopped right in front of Dean in the chair, his knees knocking against the taller man’s. “Beg for mercy.”

Dean tried not to let that hurt him, that loss of faith. There’d been a day when Cas would’ve believed in Dean completely, when Cas would’ve laughed at the thought of a silly challenge from a dick-off like the Leviathan, but now…

“We— _I_ can’t do that.”

Cas sighed. “I know. Dean…” He looked so lost, and for that split moment, Dean saw him. Not Europol Detective Cas, no, but _his_ Cas...the Cas who’d stayed up all night telling him about his shitty upbringing, the Cas who’d peppered kisses across the freckles on Dean’s nose and cheeks, the Cas who’d whispered confessions of love between soft gasps and pretty sighs.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, his fingers stretching out to brush against Cas’s.

Cas froze at the gentle touch, his eyes widening slightly. It was so simple, a tiny brush of fingers, so tiny that it might as well have not happened at all. They might’ve just as easily brushed fingers passing money back and forth over a food counter, or stumbling into each other on a crowded subway. But this wasn’t any of those. This was here and now, after months of separation, and somehow that seemed to make it all the sweeter.

“Please be careful,” Cas whispered.

Dean tried to smile, tried to pass off his usual cavalier attitude, but he suddenly found he couldn’t. “I don’t… I can’t… He’ll kill me; he’ll kill us all.”

“You don’t have to keep doing this….”

Dean shook his head. “This is in my blood.”

“But it doesn’t have to be!” Cas argued, reaching to grasp Dean by the face. He dipped down, so close to touching his mouth to Dean’s, when he suddenly froze.

He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. He was past this, past _him_. He was one of the best goddamned detectives on an international task force. He was better now; he’d made it through the pain, and he was a stronger person for it. He wasn’t going to give that up just because Dean popped back up and batted his pretty green eyes.

“I have to go,” he suddenly stuttered out, lurching back from Dean. Spinning away, he fled the hotel room with a slam of the door, leaving Dean to stare at the pictures still fanned out across the coffee table.

Dean had totally forgotten that the others were locked away in the adjoining room until he heard the gentle call of “Dean?”

He glanced up and found Jo standing in front of him.

“Yeah, Jo?”

“Who was that?” She asked.

Dean sighed heavily and dropped his head into his hands. “An old…friend, I guess.”

“Friend,” Bobby snorted. “That’s not what we used to call it.”

“Bobby,” Sam warned.

“Look, the boy’s got himself a guy, I don’t care. But he can’t be endangering…” Bobby began, but Dean waved him off.

“I won’t, okay? It’ll be fine.” He stood and walked toward the side table where he’d left his phone earlier. “I need to call Frank, see where he is on that…”

The phone wasn’t there.

Dean’s brows furrowed as he checked his pocket for his phone. He was sure he had left it right…his mind suddenly flashed to mere moments earlier, when Cas had brushed past him to get into the room…

“Fuck!” he bit out.

***

Down the street, safely in his car on his way back to the station, Cas browsed through the contacts on Dean’s phone, smiling softly to himself. Dean really needed to figure out a better password than his mom’s birthday.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets some bad news from his boss.
> 
> Dean gets a lecture from his brother.

Cas sat behind his shaky metal desk, scribbling out some notes from his recent interview with a burglary victim. An explosion of sound erupted from his desk drawer, and Cas actually flinched.

He yanked the drawer open, glowering at the object. Of course Dean would choose some obnoxious classic rock song for his ringtone. He picked up the phone, jotting down the number in his notebook before he pressed the answer button.

“Dean’s phone,” he murmured.

“Dean? Who’s this?” A gruff voice called.

“This is Cassie,” Cas replied. “Who’s this?”

“Frank! Look, is Dean about?”

“Uh, not right this moment,” Cas hedged as he scribbled the name down next to the number. “He’s in a meeting with…” He scrambled to recall the name of one of Dean’s old friends. “Gordon.”

“Gordon? What’s that about?” Frank muttered. “Can I get in on that?”

Cas ignored the question. “Do you have a message for Dean?”

“Yes! Tell that jagoff that this shit is fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful. It’d fool the royals themselves! So, I’m doubling the price,” he announced.

Cas was still busy scribbling. _Fucking beautiful. Fool royals?_

“Double price, got it! Anything else?” he asked, eager to get more details from the mysterious Frank.

“Yes! Tell him that hiring a male assistant with a sexy accent is so cliche! And tell him not to forget about the other thing!” The other man hung up.

Cas rolled his eyes. Sexy accent? He’d worked his ass off to rid himself of his accent, but it still filtered through from time to time.

Dean had loved it, often begging Cas to speak in his native tongue. And of course Cas would always resist at first, rolling his eyes and acting put out, but then he’d finally give in and whisper to Dean until the American had greedily kissed him, swallowing down the filthy words with lips and tongue.

Cas shook his head to clear the unexpected memory. He needed to stop this. Dean was a criminal—a criminal who’d evaded justice before, probably more than once. Cas needed to keep his head on straight and do his job, which at the moment included getting Dean Winchester behind bars.

Cas jumped when another ringtone sounded in the stillness of his office, and he cursed inwardly. He’d been jumpy and on-edge since Dean had returned, and it seriously needed to stop. He picked up his own phone from the desk.

“Detective Novak,” he answered smoothly.

“Novak, what’s this 1077 you submitted?” Uriel asked, his voice flat and bored as ever. 

He never actually greeted anyone, just got straight to the point.

Cas rolled his eyes. “A 1077 form requisitions more support from…”

“I know _what_ a 1077 is,” Uriel cut in, sounding the teensiest bit annoyed. Cas smirked in triumph at his success. “I want to know why you filed it.”

“I’m requisitioning more men and equipment to make successful arrests of at least…” he counted up the number of Dean’s associates he had seen through surveillance, “seven known criminals.”

“Seven?” Uriel sounded dubious, and Cas found himself once again wishing that punching one’s Europol supervisor in the face didn’t carry such a hefty penalty.

“Seven,” Cas confirmed, his voice blessedly even.

Uriel paused before pushing forward. “Castiel, you’re a great detective. One of the best I have. But remember what happened with the last 1077? The Bulgary job?”

Cas sighed heavily. He’d heard this before. “Uriel…”

“You had more of my men at your disposal than I did, and all of those extra funds… And for nothing! Not a single arrest!” Cas’s eyes slid shut. “I can’t have another fiasco like that. I’m sorry, but I’m denying your request.”

Castiel kept the phone against his ear long after Uriel had hung up. He couldn’t fail this again. He just couldn’t. He had to get Dean this time, even if it killed him.

***

Dean, Sam, and Ash waited in the receiving line at the airport. They watched the passengers coming and going, long lost friends and relatives seeing each other after time apart.

Every time Dean saw a couple kiss, he felt that old pang in his chest. There’d been a time once when that had been him and Cas. Dean would return from his out-of-town jobs (read: heists) and Cas would greet him with tight hugs and long kisses.

Dean shook his head to clear it. Cas hated him now, that much was clear. Or, if he didn’t hate him, he wished he did. Deep inside, Dean kinda wished they could hate each other too. 

It’d make everything so much easier.

“There he is,” Sam announced, and Dean lifted his head to find Frank striding toward them.

“Hello, boys,” he greeted cheerfully.

“Heya, Frank! How’s it going?” Dean asked, clapping him on the back.

“Good, good,” Frank replied as he followed them out to the waiting car.

“You got it?” Ash asked.

“You got my thirty-six mil?” Frank rebutted.

Dean paused. “Thirty-six? I thought we agreed on eighteen?”

“Didn’t you get the message I left with your assistant?”

“What assistant?” Sam asked, eyeing Dean warily.

“Cassie? Deep voice, slight sexy accent?” Frank confided. Sam and Ash both spun to glare at Dean.

“He has your phone?” Sam cried. Dean just smiled abashedly and ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“Maybe.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier because…?” Sam prodded.

Dean shrugged. “It didn’t seem that important.”

“Didn’t seem…didn’t…” Sam stuttered. “Didn’t seem that important?"

“Look,” Dean began, but Sam cut him off.

“No, you look!” Sam cried in frustration. “I don’t know what little game you and this guy are playing, but it needs to stop! Our lives are on the line, and you’re angling your way into some dude’s pants!”

“Sammy…” Dean murmured. Sam finally stopped yelling long enough to finally look at his brother, to see the slight blush and shiny eyes.

“Holy shit…you’re in love with him,” Sam breathed. “You fell for a fucking cop?”

“Detective,” Dean corrected, unable to keep the pride from his voice. “He’s a detective now.”

“We don’t care what he is, he’s a danger to this job!” Ash cut in.

“Look, I’ll get my phone back, okay?” Dean bit out. “You just focus on getting Frank his money.” He spun away and hailed down a passing cab, climbing inside before they could say anything more.

Dammit, Cas was going to be the absolute end of him. And the worst part was, he didn’t even mind it so much. Even now as the cab sped toward Cas’s apartment—toward the home of a fucking detective who could put him away for a long time—he felt his heart picking up a beat in anticipation.

He was so fucked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Cas gets a visitor.

Cas unlocked the door and let himself into his apartment. Sighing in relief, he shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. No matter how comfortable the shoes were, his feet always ached by the end of the day. When they’d still been together, Dean would usually give him a foot massage when he got home. Now…now, no one waited for him.

Cas growled irritably as he strode into the dining room. _Stop thinking about him!_

Before he’d known that Dean was back in town, he hadn’t thought about him in weeks…months, even. But now, the dumbass found his way into Cas’s thoughts on a minute by minute basis.

“This shit has to stop,” he muttered, almost to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t to himself, not really. He’d said it to the man currently sitting in the armchair in the corner.

He spun around, his piece in hand, aiming straight for the chair. Dean didn’t even flinch, that bastard.

“Heya, Cas,” he greeted, grinning.

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas asked, his gun still trained on the other man’s chest.

“Just wanted to drop in, say hi. See how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine,” Cas muttered, finally lowering his weapon. He turned and shoved it back into the hutch drawer. “You?”

“I’ve been better,” Dean admitted. “But then again, I’ve been worse.”

Cas rolled his eyes.

“Your feet bugging you?” Dean wondered. “Because I have it on good authority that I know how to give one hell of a foot rub.”

“You can’t count yourself as an authority, Dean,” Cas scolded. “You’re too full of shit,”

“Can I have my phone back?” Dean suddenly asked, choosing to ignore the jab to his personal character.

“No.” Cas strode back into the other room.

“Nice pull, by the way,” Dean called after him. “Did you get that little tingle up your spine when you snatched it, that little tug in your gut?” Dean paused. “Or is that none of my business?”

Cas ignored him, tugging off his jacket to hang by the door. 

Dean stood from his seat. “Have you considered a career change?”

“Have you?” Cas spun to face him. 

Dean took one step forward, then another. He considered lying, because to tell the truth here would not only expose his failure…it’d expose his heart. He licked his lips then answered. “I tried an auto shop.” He leaned against the doorframe. “I’m better at this.

Cas gave no answer, instead digging through a pile of odds and ends on the table. 

“I went by our place, the other day…”

“Who’s the Leviathan?” Cas suddenly asked. 

“It’s not the same,” Dean finished his thought. 

Cas ignored Dean’s thought, continued his questions. “Why accept his challenge?” 

“Because he’ll lose,” Dean promised. 

Cas stared at him for a long moment, then hummed as he spun to face the mirror on the wall behind him, his lipstick in hand, and started to apply it. It was the dark red one that Dean had always loved. Cas almost never wore makeup anymore; it wasn’t really smiled upon in his line of work. But if he recalled right, seeing him in lipstick had always… _done things_ to Dean, and he wasn’t above taking cheap shots to gain the upper hand.

Cas glanced at Dean through the reflection, and sure enough, Dean’s gaze was trained on his mouth. Cas smirked and popped his lips. He spun around to face Dean.

“You know, I always knew it was you,” he admitted.

“What was me?” Dean asked distractedly, his gaze still on Cas’s lips.

“The Bulgary job,” Cas murmured.

Dean’s eyes shot up to meet his. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Cas shrugged. “I tried, but you ran away on me.” He leaned back against the table and stretched his long legs out, waiting for Dean to figure out what he meant. He could see when it clicked with him, when he remembered that last night when he’d jumped out the bathroom window, never to return.

Cas crossed his legs at the ankle, his entire pose nonchalant. He glanced down at his shoes before looking back up at Dean through his lashes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want it to end,” Dean admitted.

Cas hummed. “You assumed it would.”

“Was I wrong?” Dean countered, and for one split moment, Cas’s facade dropped. In that one split moment, Dean saw Cas’s pain for what it really was, loss and abandonment and betrayal. It was the same expression he'd worn while finally telling Dean about his father, his voice little more than a pained whisper. And now he was going through it all over again—a thief who couldn't give up the life, who chose life-long exile over beautiful, fragile Castiel. Dean felt remorse course through him again.

Cas pushed away from the table, hurrying across the room toward the door. “You should go,” he announced, opening the door and holding it for Dean.

Dean slowly pushed away from the door jamb, staring intently at Cas as he strode toward him. Cas felt his breath catch in his throat. It was so reminiscent of those nights when Dean would stalk Cas across the apartment before taking him over the table or on the couch or on the floor, those nights when they were both so hungry for it they couldn’t be bothered to make it to the bed.

Cas tried not to let his thoughts show, tried not to give his traitorous mind away, but he could feel his cheeks flushing. Damn Dean Winchester!

Dean paused just as he was about to leave the apartment, his foot on the threshold. He glanced down at Cas, but the detective kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Cas,” he murmured.

Cas’s eyes flicked up to his, bright blue and angry. “Dean, the next time I see you, I’m arresting you, and Sam and Bobby and anyone else who I know is working with you.”

“Fair enough,” Dean muttered. He ducked down, and for one indescribable heartbeat, Cas thought he was going to kiss him. But then Dean brushed his lips over his cheek, carefully steering clear of his mouth, before pulling away and walking out.

Cas slowly shut the door behind him, his entire body slumping against the wood as the tears started. Dammit, he’d promised himself that he would never cry over that jackass again, and now…

“Fuck you, Dean Winchester,” he breathed. Even though he knew Dean couldn’t hear him, it still felt good to say.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned... 
> 
> Or: Cas finally gets his revenge.

Holy shit. He’d actually done it. Cas had arrested him.

Dean slumped on the uncomfortable bench, locked up with the majority of his crew. All of them stared down at the ground in shock.

He’d never been caught before.

_Never._

But Cas had done it. He’d arrested almost all of them. The only ones who hadn’t gotten nabbed were Garth, Ash, and Charlie. Or, at least, Dean assumed that they didn’t have Charlie. He’d seen them escorting Jo to the women’s holding cell, but Charlie hadn’t been with her.

His brain skipped back to that one thought, too shocked and distracted to really think of anything or anyone else for very long: Holy fuck, Cas had arrested him. 

Dean couldn’t quite figure out if he was pissed or proud. He kept wavering between the two, one second filled with incredulous anger, the next with a helpless sort of pride for the gorgeous asshole.

“You happy now?” Bobby grunted. Dean glanced up at him.

“What?”

“You heard me! You think we haven’t noticed how distracted you’ve been? Playing your little game?” He shook his head disapprovingly. “And the worst part is, it’s like you wanted him to win!”

Dean just smirked at the accusation. Didn’t deny it. He knew he couldn’t lie to Bobby; they’d been friends for too long.

Bobby heaved a heavy sigh. “Was he worth it?”

“Was Ellen?” Dean countered, and of course, that shut Bobby up right away.

Dean looked down at the ground again, his mouth turned down in a frown. Maybe now that Cas had had his revenge, he’d maybe consider talking to Dean again. Maybe they could go for gelato at that tiny cafe they used to love.

Almost as though he could read his mind, Benny clapped him on the back. “Hell hath no fury, brother.”

Dean smiled mirthlessly.

***

Cas stood behind the museum’s security guard, closely watching the monitors as the small group—a lanky, goofy-looking man, another man with a mullet, and a pale redheaded woman with a prominent baby bump—meandered its way to the heart of the museum, to the new exhibit featuring one of the infamous royal eggs.

“I’m surprised Uriel agreed to sign the 1077. He seemed so adamant after last time,” Balth murmured. Cas merely shrugged, keeping his eyes on the monitor.

Uriel _hadn’t_ signed the 1077, but Cas had always had a steady hand. He could forge practically anyone’s signature, given a few practice runs. Probably something he’d inherited from his late father.

He watched as Garth pretended to stumble as he walked past the pedestal holding the egg, and Castiel smirked. “There.”

He spun away and charged from the room, leaving the others to follow. He had them now.

***

Hours later, the door to the holding cell swung open again, and Garth and Ash were unceremoniously shoved in. Dean wasn’t the least bit surprised. If he and Sammy hadn’t been able to escape Cas, there was no way in hell these guys could.

Charlie was escorted past a few minutes later, toward the ladies’ holding cell. 

Dean shook his head, smiling ruefully. That fucker. He’d done it. He’d caught them all, an entire crew of internationally known thieves and con-artists who were experts in the art of evasion. And all under the banner of “Lover Scorned.”

Dean wouldn’t be making that mistake again. This time, if Cas took him back—if he ever gave Dean a second chance—there was no way in hell Dean would _ever_ be stupid enough to let him go again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas swore to catch Dean, no matter the cost. Well, now that he's caught Dean, it's time to pay up.

“Are you going to to see him?” Balthazar asked ever so casually.

Cas ignored him in favor of signing yet another form. He loved his job, but fuck if the paperwork didn’t kill him.

“Cas,” Balthazar persisted.

“Who?” he muttered, unwilling to play along.

“Dean Winchester.” 

Cas’s heart slammed to a stop.

“Why would I go see…” Cas hesitated, “any of them?” he finished harshly, the corners of his lips drawing down as he signed another form with an angry flourish.

“Don’t pull that shit with me. You’ve been off since he followed you around last week.” When Cas didn’t deny it, Balth asked, “How many times have you seen him since then?”

Cas heaved a sigh. “Twice.”

Balth’s eyebrows arched. “Twice? As in…you saw him twice before today, and you didn’t arrest him.”

“I didn’t have enough evidence then,” Cas countered.

Balth snorted out a laugh. “Sure, we’ll call it that, if you want.”

Cas’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything! I’m just inferring from the evidence.” He pointed at Cas. “ _You’re_ the one who won’t go see him!”

“You want me to go see a felon? Fine! _Fine!_ ” Cas spun away to storm toward the holding cells.

As he strode past the lobby, he was drawn up short by the firm call of, “Detective Novak.”

He turned to find a middle-aged woman striding toward him, her heels clicking across the tiles of the lobby. Her mouth remained turned down in what appeared to be a perpetual frown, her brown hair drawn back into a tight bun. She extended her hand, and Cas accepted it, shaking firmly.

“I’m Section Commander Harvelle.” Her American accent was obvious. She’d probably been sent over from the embassy. “I spoke to a very nice man at Europol this morning who wants you on the next flight back to Amsterdam. Apparently there were some discrepancies with your paperwork.”

Cas felt his stomach drop. _Fuck._ There’d always been a chance that he’d be found out…but he hadn’t anticipated being caught so soon. Now he was going to… Well, at the very least he’d get fired. He’d probably face some criminal charges of his own for forging government documents.

At least he’d nabbed Dean first.

But for some reason, that didn’t feel nearly as good as he’d thought it would. Instead, he just felt…empty, like he always had since Dean hopped out that bathroom window into the pouring rain. He’d thought that maybe catching Dean would help fill that emptiness. It hadn’t.

The only times he’d come close to feeling anything there in that vast pit had been those few moments when he’d been with Dean.

But he didn’t need Dean. He’d gotten over him.

So he just nodded at Harvelle. “I guess I’m heading back to Amsterdam.”

The woman smirked...actually _smirked_. “Why don’t we say that the next flight is the 7:58 this evening? I may need you with me for the interrogations.”

Cas’s brows rose. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. These men and women are a real piece of work, especially the older Winchester.”

Cas tried to keep his expression even as he nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

Harvelle’s smirk grew, and Cas had the uncomfortable feeling that he hadn’t kept his expression as unreadable as he’d hoped. He gestured back toward the holding cells, eager to get this over with. “They’re back this way.”

She nodded toward the cells. “Lead the way, Detective.”

***

Dean jerked awake when he felt Ash’s foot kicking against his. He opened his eyes to find Ellen standing right outside the cell, wearing her last fed suit she had left over from her days on the inside. Cas stood beside her, his face flat and expressionless. But even flat and expressionless, with obvious signs of stress and fatigue, he was still beautiful.

Dean couldn’t really be blamed for staring at him, even as Ellen pulled her “intimidating agent” bit and pretended to study each of them in turn, as if she were searching for the perfect mark. While she studied each of them, Dean studied Cas. He still had that hollow look to his blue eyes, like he’d had when Dean had been at his apartment a few days before, but it somehow seemed worse.

Dean kept staring, silently willing Cas to return his gaze, but the detective was stubborn. He kept his eyes firmly locked on the wall above Garth’s head.

“That one,” Ellen murmured, pointing into the holding cell next to theirs, the women’s cell. “I’ll take that one.”

“Shit,” he heard Jo mutter.

Ellen turned away, and Cas followed. But at the very last moment, almost like he couldn’t help himself, his eyes locked onto Dean’s. For that split moment, their eyes held between them, and Dean couldn’t stop his small, hopeful smile. And then, almost of its own volition it seemed, Cas’s face lit a bright red, and Dean felt his heart swell.

Castiel turned away, and the connection broke, but Dean still felt that flutter in his chest. And if the tense set of Cas’s shoulders was anything to go by, he was feeling the same.

Dean smirked triumphantly. It wasn’t too late for them. Not really.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas's heart gets broken all over again.

“Imagine a room,” Section Chief Harvelle murmured, her words flowing smoothly, her tone almost conversational. Her entire demeanor seemed relaxed, nonchalant; it was so at odds with the chipped cement walls and sturdy steel door with bars in its tiny window. 

“A room,” she continued, “too short to stand up in, but too small to lie down in.” 

Jo just glared down at the tabletop, stubbornly refusing to meet the agent’s gaze.

“No light, no heat. Just four stone walls gouged with scratch marks left by desperate men driven crazy by the isolation,” Harvelle described. 

Cas felt shivers run down his spine. No wonder this woman was a section chief; she was fucking ruthless.

“The rats will be your only company,” Harvelle promised. “There’ll be one tiny little window, just big enough for you to watch the outside world pass you by. Your parents will grow old and die. Your friends will forget your name, forget you existed.” She shrugged, like this horrible future she described didn’t even matter. “They’ll tell your stories as their own, because what good is a story if the hero doesn’t even exist anymore?”

“What do you want?” Jo bit out, cutting off the agent’s monologue.

“Testify against the others in the Bulgary case,” Harvelle prompted. “I know Detective Novak here would be so grateful if you could tie up some loose ends for him on that.” Harvelle nodded toward him. “Might even help get him out of some pretty hot water.”

Jo cast a furtive glance toward his corner, but Cas kept his face blank. He didn’t need her, and subsequently Dean, to know about his problems. He’d gotten into this mess on his own, so he’d face the consequences on his own.

The thief looked back to the American agent. “No.”

“Look, we’re not unreasonable,” Ellen assured her. “If you testify against the others, the Italian charges will be dropped; you and the others will be extradited back to the U.S. this afternoon. Plead and you’ll walk, with parole, of course.”

Jo glared at her. “I said no!” She drew in a deep breath, and her next admission came out regretful. “I can’t.”

Ellen sighed heavily as she stood from her chair. She slowly gathered her papers back together, neatly shuffling them into order before she stood and headed for the door.

“Think about it…” She glanced down at the folder in her hand, “Jo.” She chuckled. “You know, for a minute there, I was already forgetting your name.”

She knocked on the door twice, and Cas pushed off from the wall where he’d been leaning to follow her from the room.

It was only when the door was opening that he heard the soft, “Wait.”

They both turned back to face the blonde woman at the table, their expressions expectant.

“Just… give me a sec,” Jo murmured uncertainly.

***

Once Jo agreed to testify, it didn’t take long to get the whole story from her. Cas listened numbly as she explained that Dean hadn’t intended to fall for the lead detective on the Bulgary case—he’d just been supposed to distract him. But when Dean had realized that he was in too deep with the detective, he’d run.

Cas dropped his gaze. So he’d been a mark from the start. And as soon as Dean realized that what they had was real, he’d run. Of course he had, because what could possibly be worse than actually being in love with someone like Cas?

Cas stared down at his feet, studying the brown Oxfords he’d put on that morning. Had it really been just that morning? Cas felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime since then.

Hell, he felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime since they’d entered this room. He must have, given how old he suddenly felt—decades older. Eons older. 

His shoulders ached, his neck cricked, his back screamed, his feet hurt. He just wanted to sleep, sleep and forget this whole ordeal, forget Dean…for good this time. 

How silly he’d been, thinking that Dean might have felt something in those brief interactions they’d had at the hotel and in his home. Dean had been playing Cas, just like before, keeping him _distracted_. At least he’d had the decency to nix the sex this time around. 

Cas had been the mark, and he hadn’t even known. One would think, given the downward spiral he’d witnessed his mother go through with his father, that he’d be able at least recognize when he was being played. But he hadn’t. He’d thought… 

It didn’t matter. He’d obviously been wrong.

He glanced at his watch. 7:17. He needed to leave now if he was going to catch that 7:58 back to Amsterdam. Harvelle had this interview under control, despite what she had said about needing his help. So far, all he’d managed to do was get his heart broken by Dean all over again.

And the best part was, Dean wasn’t even in the room with them. He didn’t have to be. That’s how fucking good he was at this, at tearing Cas apart.

Cas caught Harvelle’s eye and tilted his head toward the door, signaling that he was headed out. Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head. Why the hell was she so adamant about him staying here? Cas just pointed at his watch and mouthed “Plane.” He smiled sadly and shuffled from the room.

Time to face the music and answer for his sins.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't figure out where he went wrong this time, but he's gonna try and make it right.

Dean watched as Cas strode past the holding cells again, his head held high, his back ramrod straight. He didn’t even look into the cell as he passed.

Dean’s brows furrowed. Ellen was supposed to keep Cas here until Dean could talk to him, but Ellen and Jo were nowhere to be seen. He would have called out to Cas, but between one breath and the next, the detective was gone.

Ellen emerged only a few minutes later, her mouth set in a frown. She nodded toward the officers, and they opened the cell doors, escorting each of the prisoners out one by one. As they motioned for Dean to step forward, Ellen stepped up.

“I’ll take care of this one, fellas.”

They brought up the rear of the solemn procession, their faces stoic.

“You need to get to the airport and stop that dumbass,” Ellen murmured.

“Why the hell is he on his way to the airport and not still here?” Dean bit out.

“I tried to hold him back, I really did, but he’s determined. I think…I think it might’ve been what Jo said.”

“What did she say?” Dean grumbled. “She was supposed to make sure that he knew I was really in love with him!”

“She tried, but I don’t think that’s the part he picked up on.”

“Then what part did he pick up on?”

“You left.” Ellen replied simply. “You fell in love with him, and you left,”

Dean groaned. “Fuck!”

“No shit, boy. Now go stop your idiot before he gets himself thrown in jail.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Why the hell would he get thrown in jail?”

“He forged some paperwork.” At Dean’s confused look, she shrugged. “I guess he really wanted to catch you.”

“I need to get to the airport,” Dean muttered.

“The car will take you there,” Ellen assured him.

***

Cas was halfway up the stairs of the private jet Uriah had sent for him when the sleek black SUV screeched to a halt behind him. He turned to find Dean leaping from the back seat, his face determined.

“Cas!” he yelled, running toward the plane.

Cas sighed and shook his head. Of course Dean had managed to get free. Cas had given up everything, fucking _everything_ , and it still hadn’t counted. History repeating itself.

“What do you want, Dean?” he asked, far too tired and hurt to play anymore of this bastard’s infuriating games.

“For starters, don’t get on the plane,” Dean pleaded as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Why?” Cas asked flatly. “You got free, you’re good to go.” he trailed off as her looked into the empty plane. “Besides,” With the leather seats and polished wood, it really was the nicest prison transport Cas had ever seen. “I have to go too…”

“You don’t _have_ to go…you’re running, and you know it,” Dean accused as he slowly started to climb the stairs toward his detective.

Cas huffed out a laugh. “Oh, so you got to run when it suited you, but now I don’t?”

“No,” Dean replied as he stopped on the stair below Cas. Cas pulled back a tiny bit. It was so damn hard to focus when Dean was this close, but Dean just pressed into his space. “Because we both saw how that turned out, and I don’t know about you, but I am sick and tired of us running from each other.”

Cas looked away, tears brimming in his eyes. “Maybe it’s for the best. You don’t want this.”

“Oh, like hell! If I don’t want it, why the fuck am I here? Huh?” Dean persisted.

“You ran!” Cas burst out. “You thought you were in love with me, so you ran.” His voice softened to a pained murmur. “You don’t want me, you’re just…feeling guilty.”

“That was then! Cas, _sweetheart_ ,” and dammit if Cas’s knees didn’t go weak at that one, but Dean continued. “I left because… because I knew you were headed for big things, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“You should’ve let me choose! You should’ve given me the chance!”

“I’m here now. I’m giving you a choice now.” Dean drew a deep breath, his eyes desperate. “I’m here _begging_ you…come with me.”

Cas’s expression slipped to uncertainty, his eyes so hurt yet hopeful, and Dean pressed his advantage. “There’s nothing for you back there but a forged signature,” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to Cas’s.

Cas found it exceedingly difficult to concentrate with Dean’s mouth practically on his.

“You’re not playing fair,” he complained, tears clouding his vision. “You used me for a mark, and now you expect me to forget that?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I don’t want you to forget a single second of what we’ve gone through…but I am asking you to give me another shot. If you let me back in your life, I promise, it won’t ever happen again.”

Cas laughed bitterly. “Then what do you call today? Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you used me to get into that jail, because apparently that’s where you wanted to be.”

Dean finally glanced away, guilt clear on his features. “I didn’t want to, okay? But I had to. There’s this guy…”

“The Leviathan,” Cas supplied, and Dean nodded.

“He’s a grade-A asshole. He broke the Number One Rule, sold us out to Bartholomew. All because he overheard someone saying that my crew was the best in the business, and his ego took a hit.”

“So you had to use me because…?” Cas said, still unwilling to let Dean off the hook.

“Because Dick had to think that we were in jail, otherwise he wouldn’t have shown his hand. But he did, and now we’ve won.”

“Won what?” Cas’s head tilted to the side, just like Dean remembered.

“The bet. Dick said that if we could beat him, he’d pay off our debt to Bartholomew. So now Bart isn’t gonna come after us and kill us.”

“That’s good,” Cas admitted, somewhat inanely. He tried to ignore the fluttering of his heart when Dean smiled beautifully,

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. But now…now that I have all of this freedom, I’m realizing…” Dean drew a deep breath, “I’m realizing that I want more. I want someone to share that freedom with.”

“And you want…” Cas’s eyes locked onto Dean’s.

“ _You_.” His hand came up to cup Cas’s cheek as he pleaded, “Come back with me, give me another chance. I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect, but I’ll sure as hell be yours, if you let me.”

Cas stared at him for another long moment, indecision clear on his face. Go back to Uriah, get jail time and years of wondering what if he’d gone with Dean, or…go with Dean. Be happy again. Fill that empty space inside.

He could feel the pull, the need to stay with his beautiful conman, but it was wrong. He’d broken the law, and he needed to face the consequences for that. Otherwise, he’d be no better off than his father.

But Dean… Oh god, _Dean._

Cas finally shook his head.

Dean felt the hope die within him. He’d been so sure…

But then Cas smiled softly, his hands sliding up to curl in the shirt fabric over Dean’s heart. “You, Dean Winchester, are going to be the death of me.”

“Fuck!” Dean whispered as he slammed his mouth onto Cas’s, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck and pulling him close.

Cas may have whimpered a little bit when Dean’s tongue slipped into his mouth, claiming his after years of separation. Cas could only press tighter, his body desperate for the feel of Dean’s. Damn Uriah and his forged forms; Cas had Dean back, and he wasn’t going to let him go again.

When they finally broke loose several long, bruising kisses later, Cas smiled at the thief with swollen lips. “You win.”

“You know, I really think that we’re both getting something out of this deal,” Dean murmured, and Cas giggled.

“Okay, I guess I can win, too,” Cas conceded as he pressed in for another kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wrap-Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is completely new! The original version on Tumblr only went through chapter 9, but I always felt like there should be at least 1 more, a true epilogue that just wrapped it all in a nice bow. So, enjoy!

Castiel had forgotten just how easy it was to fall in love with Dean. Every moment he spent with his conman, from the private jet ride to the pricey villa to the crisp white sheets, he could feel himself tumbling back into that warm place where it was just him and Dean and their deep, abiding bond. 

They spent the weekend relearning each other, then relearning themselves _with_ each other. Dean gently took Cas apart, Cas roughly put Dean back together. Somehow, they rediscovered their balance…but Cas had to wonder if it had ever really been gone at all.

On Monday, when the long, luxurious weekend came to an end, Dean tugged Cas into a cab that drove them to some unknown destination. Apparently, they were going to see an old friend of Dean’s, a friend who had kindly provided them with a private jet and a pricey villa, and everything in between. 

Dean refused to give his friend’s name, no matter how much Cas prodded and guessed. It wasn't until they were walking up the steps to the giant villa’s patio that he dropped the casual line: “I’ve only ever known him as LeMarc.” 

Castiel froze, staring at the old man who stood from his seat and walked towards him. He didn’t speak, _couldn’t_ speak. He’d been told that this man was long dead, but somehow Castiel knew. He just _knew_ , because he’d recognize his father anywhere. 

“Where the hell have you been?” he whispered to the old man. 

“Here,” came the answer. “Waiting.” 

“Waiting for what?” 

“For this,” his father said, and then they were hugging, crying, touching for the first time in years. 

Standing near the door, Dean smiled proudly as he dropped an inconspicuous backpack, _the_ backpack, on a nearby table.

—

Castiel stared up at the front of the ritzy restaurant, his heart slamming in his chest. Dean came up beside him, wrapped his arm around his waist. 

“Stop worrying!” 

“What if they’re still mad at me?” Cas whispered. “I mean, I did just arrest them all less than week ago!” 

Dean scoffed. “It wasn’t the first time they’ve been arrested, and it probably won’t be the last…well, actually, I think it was Kevin’s first arrest.” 

“But still—”

“Babe,” Dean soothed as he guided Cas inside, “I think they’re all still shocked that you gave me another chance.” 

He nodded to the hostess, who led them down a side hall to the private room. 

“I mean, you were pretty angry,” Dean reminded. 

“Well,” Cas smirked as he pulled free of Dean’s grasp. “hell hath no fury.” 

Dean chuckled as he followed Cas into the room, where the others were already standing and calling out greetings to him. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Sam enthused.

Cas grinned. “Oh, I’ve heard a lot of stories about you!” This earned Dean a patented Sammy Bitch Face. 

Bobby stepped forward and slapped Cas on the back, nodding towards Dean. “Thanks for finally makin’ an honest man outta that one.” 

Then there was Caleb with a firm handshake, then Kevin, who confirmed it had been his first arrest (but he loved that it had happened in Italy). Then Jo wrapped him in a hug, whispering her apology for the pain she’d caused. 

Then her mother Ellen stepped forward, and Cas offered the older lady a smirk, holding out his hand. “Section Chief Harvelle.” She just rolled her eyes and pulled him into a tight hug instead. 

Standing a few feet apart, Dean couldn’t help his smile as his detective—no, _ex_ -detective—was pulled into one hug then another. Cas wore his own bright smile as this band of thieves, this family, readily welcomed him with open arms.


End file.
